


A Seat for the Guest Unknown

by sithmarauder



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (At Least Not for Prussia), Angst, Brief Historical References, Established Relationship, Gratituous Ring Imagery, Heavily Repressed Pining, Hurt No Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Modern Era, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: “Why didn’t you tell me?” Prussia demanded, the words little more than a hiss, and he watched Spain wince with a savage sort of pleasure.  Beside Spain, Austria had gone perfectly still, surveying the two men with thinned lips and narrowed eyes.“Oh, my friend,” Spain murmured then, “you know why.”Prussia reacts to the rekindling of Austria and Spain’s relationship.





	A Seat for the Guest Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> And here I am, popping out of the shadows with yet another half-finished fic that I decided to tidy up and post. I'm not sure when I started writing this one, only that it was mostly done by the time I rediscovered it. I cleaned it up, added a few hundred words of new stuff, and decided to post it at 2.30 in the morning, because for whatever reason I was in the mood to make Prussia suffer (and I am trying very, very hard not to think about my dissertation presentation tomorrow). Hopefully it's comprehensible! Nothing really makes sense to my frazzled mind right now.
> 
> Title from Auri's "The Space Between" c:

>  "And I tremble and grow pale  
>  for I am dying of such love."
> 
> \- Sappho, _ph ainetai moi_

Prussia didn’t cue in to the relationship, not at first.  There was no spring in the little master’s stride when he walked into the house after a night away, none of that sissy “afterglow” shit that Prussia’d always thought was utter garbage, and he didn’t break off mid-sentence and smile into the sunset or what have you.  For all intents and purposes the priss was sickeningly _normal_ , nothing out of the ordinary save for an increase in absences, and Prussia couldn’t decide whether he should be angry over the fact that he hadn't noticed sooner or angry over the fact that no one saw fit to tell him, leaving him to blunder into the room only to be confronted with it.

They hadn’t even been doing anything, really, but Prussia knew them both.  He knew what it meant when Spain smiled that way, knew what it meant when Austria allowed the other’s more familiar touches.

Knew what it meant when Spain lifted his head from Austria’s _lap_ and murmured something Prussia couldn’t understand, and what Austria’s equally soft Spanish meant in return.  He was no fool, not like Austria thought he was, and it was all too easy for him to remember the days when the alliance between Spain and Austria had been thick and unbreakable, their marriage strong, twin rings glittering on both their fingers as they faced down the world together.  They had grown up together, Prussia thought sourly, even as images of Spain’s sorrowful face swam into view, loose shirts and modern leg-trappings replaced with the fashions of the early 1700s.  There had been times, during that long ago war, when Spain’s halberd had hesitated, when he had been unwilling to strike blows against the man who had stood by his side for so long.  The man he had loved.

Prussia had struck those blows for him, had done so gladly, showing his opponent no mercy and beginning the long process of stripping Austria of all his power, doing his best to ruin him like he had never wanted to ruin anyone before, unwilling to examine the savage monster in his chest that all but _purred_ at seeing Austria beaten, _wrecked_ , creamy white skin smeared with blood and dirt and for once in his life not looking like the perfect aristocrat he’d been so long trying to emulate.

Austria, damn him, had just kept picking himself back up—Prussia had never truly been able to figure out if that was something he appreciated or loathed—and the fact that he was still recognised as a country in this day and age while Prussia himself had become nothing but a vague memory in the minds of the world’s senior citizens was a testament to the other’s ability to rise from his own ashes, a most irritating type of phoenix.

_You’d love to hear that, wouldn’t you, little master?  Europe’s blazing phoenix, so much brighter, soaring so high above us all,_ he thought, even as he forced himself to blink away the dryness of his eyes, his hand twitching at his side.  _But never too high for_ him _, even as you fought and pecked viciously to retain everything you thought you were and should be._ A memory returned, unbidden: Austria, on the ground in front of him, mouth twisted into a snarl as Prussia had made his debut in the European theatre of war, and—

And against his blood-streaked armour, hanging by a silken cord: the Habsburg ring, _Spain’s_ ring, and with it a history Prussia could never hope to match.

Now, watching them, Prussia felt an ugly blackness curl in his mind and chest, one he had not felt in a very long time.  His hands clenched into fists, and before he could stop himself he stormed into the room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden flooring and instantly causing the two on the couch to glance over.

Austria’s eyes were dismissive, his curiosity quickly sated.  It was Spain who caught his gaze and held it, cocking his head enquiringly, years of friendship rendering him capable of guessing when Prussia wanted to say something.

For the first time in years, Prussia wanted to strike him.

“So,” he said, and there was a hostile note to his voice that made Austria look up again, a ghostly frown settling on his face.  Spain’s eyes glimmered with a more wary light now, though he waited, more patient than most gave him credit for, which was ridiculous as Spain was one of the most patient, calculating people Prussia had ever met.  Prussia made a frustrated noise, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, preparing for a battle he hadn’t known he needed to fight; one he didn’t know how, or if, he could win, whatever it was that winning entailed.  Spain met his gaze calmly, and Austria looked back to his book, barely paying him any mind.

“How long has this been going on?” Prussia then demanded, looking pointedly at their position.  Spain, to his credit, caught on quickly, his mouth opening to let a soft _ah_ escape, one that made Prussia grind his teeth.  “Well?” he asked, somewhat mollified by the fact that his friend wasn’t going to make Prussia say it, even if his eyes were suddenly far too _knowing_ , sympathy warring with pride and the vaguest hint of conceit.

But Spain said nothing, only shrugging again, at least as much as he was able to with how he had propped himself up.  The gesture of nonchalance didn’t fool Prussia.  He knew Spain, had known him for years, knew just how good Spain could be at feigning anything he damn well pleased when it suited him to do so.  Prussia usually alternated between loathing and admiring Spain’s ability to do that.  Today he hated it.

“A long time,” Spain said finally, lowering his head back to rest against Austria’s thigh, and Prussia’s teeth made an audible grinding noise before he sneezed briefly.

“Don’t be a fool,” Austria said then, comment directed at the man whose head occupied his lap, not even looking up from his book.  The sound of the page flipping irritated Prussia, like water in his ears.  “A couple months, if you must know.”

“Why?” was the next thing out of Prussia’s mouth even as he tried to hide the hostility, the anger, but it only made his voice sound funny.  He scowled, watching as the wariness in Spain’s eyes increased with a sort of vindictive glee.  Almost absently Spain’s hand lifted up to rest on Austria’s shoulder, before it slid across the other nation’s chest to the small gap in the off-white shirt Austria was so fond off.  When Spain’s ringed thumb caught on a black band of fabric, Prussia’s stomach dropped.  When his friend pulled out a ring that matched the one on his thumb, it was as if the floor beneath Prussia’s feet had simply vanished.

“History, I suppose,” Spain said, his voice low, each word carefully selected.  He tried to shrug again, and then his voice went quiet, _sincere_ , and his words made Prussia bite his lip.  “I have loved him for a very long time, Prussia.  You know this.”  The words made Prussia’s blood run cold, and he opened his mouth before closing it when no sound escaped.  Had he known it?  He knew Spain’s words had once been true, but it hadn’t registered that there might still be something there, that they might—but that was wrong, wasn’t it?  After the divorce, when Spain had at first been unwilling to march against the man who had stood by his side for two centuries, sadness in his eyes and a dark twist to his mouth—

_No_ , Prussia thought harshly, cutting off the thought.  No, he hadn’t known.  Not that Spain _still_ _loved_ the little master, after all this time, and he wanted to tell Spain just how ridiculous that was when it had been centuries, when they had all changed so much, when nothing was the same anymore.  _You can’t be in love with him_ , Prussia thought savagely, unwilling to examine the flare in his chest at the thought of Austria allowing Spain close again.  _It’s ridiculous, you had your chance, you can’t, after all this time, after all of this_.   _And he can't be in love with you._   It was like a wound, the thought that the little master still might—that _Austria_ still might—

From Austria’s side of the couch, a page turned, and Prussia reached out to swipe the book, snapping it shut.  The sound rang harshly throughout the room, and then Austria turned his full attention on Prussia at last, his violet eyes cool and his mouth set in a disapproving line.  Spain’s hand dropped to his side, and Prussia thought a lightning storm wouldn’t have been out of place in the room.  He looked between them both, from Austria’s impassive gaze to the quiet resignation in Spain’s expression, and felt panic momentarily overwhelm him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Prussia demanded, the words little more than a hiss, and he watched Spain wince with a savage sort of pleasure.  But the pleasure vanished and his eyes narrowed when Spain lifted his hands in a familiar gesture of surrender, looking at Prussia with eyes that were _almost_ sad enough, and there was a pitying quirk to his mouth that made Prussia’s blood boil.  Beside Spain, Austria had gone perfectly still, surveying the two men with thinned lips and narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my friend,” Spain murmured then, “you know why.”

The words were like a bullet to the chest, and for a moment Prussia could only stand there, his nails scraping shallow trenches into his palm as colour crept up his neck and into his face, his shame on full display as he stood there like the fool Austria always claimed him to be.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his gaze from Spain, forcing himself to meet Austria’s eyes, which were looking at him with a horrible dawning realisation.

Then, without another word, Prussia turned and walked out, throwing Austria’s book to the side as he did so, his thoughts hounding him all the way to the garage as he fled the field for the first time in centuries.

**Author's Note:**

> You will pry my headcanon that Prussia is low-key in (repressed) love with Austria out of my cold, dead hands. The poor dear.
> 
> I wish I could write and release fics with the speed and consistency that I used to, but grad school is sucking out my soul. Still, your comments and feedback never fail to make my week, and I hope this makes up for how long each fic takes <3
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://tarisians.tumblr.com/) where, if you have any Hetalia prompts (and I have the time), you can always feel free to throw them at me and I will do what I can to fill them!


End file.
